by Natalie Maximin
Black tall lampost –
Not beautiful enough to belong
For me, growing up in Trinidad, beauty, education and success were often spoken about as the keys to a better life. From a young age, I understood that appearance mattered. What I didn’t understand was how deeply those messages would affect my confidence and my sense of self-worth. As a child, I came from a disadvantaged background and a family that was far from wealthy family. I often felt that I was judged by where I came from rather than by who I was. There was a young boy in my village who called me “ET Ugly Monster.” Those words stayed with me for years. I felt poor, unwanted and unattractive. It seemed as though I wasn’t beautiful enough or wealthy enough to belong.
My height became another reason for ridicule. I was the tallest girl in my school and was often called a “black tall lamppost.” At the time, I accepted these comments as part of everyday life. In Trinidad, name-calling was common, and people were expected to get on with life. It was not until I arrived in the United Kingdom that I learned what bullying really was and how much damage words can cause.
Being ugly wasn’t an option
The loneliness and depression started at a young age. I never felt as though I fitted in and constantly compared myself to other girls wondering why I couldn’t be as beautiful as they were. One memory remains clearly in my mind. While sitting at the table in London with my aunt, uncle and cousins I suddenly said, “I want to change my face. I don’t like myself. I’m so ugly.”
My Aunt Cecelia immediately replied, “Natalie, you can never be ugly because you look like the Aston family.” What she meant by that was that Aston family women are very beautiful, strong, hardworking resilient women and I was part of them – so being ugly wasn’t an option. I looked at her and said, “But you are more beautiful than me, Aunty. You only say that because you are my aunt.”
An amazing heart –
But too ugly to be around
Then my cousin Tara, who was only twelve years old at the time, turned to me and said something that would stay with me for the rest of my life. “Nat, you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen because you have an amazing heart.”
My response revealed just how broken I felt inside. “What is the point of having a beautiful heart if I don’t have the beautiful face to match it?”
I left the table upset and confused. The pain was so overwhelming that I shouted, “I don’t want to be on this earth anymore. I want to die. I don’t belong here. I’m too ugly to be around anybody.”
Those feelings followed me into adulthood.
Education became my refuge
On starting university in London, I found myself surrounded by beautiful women from every background you could imagine. Once again, I felt out of place. However, I remembered the words of my mother, Cecelia Maximin, and my teacher, Mrs Smith, who always told me that education was the key to success.
I decided that if I couldn’t be beautiful, then I would be educated. I convinced myself that academic achievement would become my passport into acceptance. If I worked hard enough, perhaps nobody would notice how black I was, how different I was, or how ugly I believed myself to be.
For a while, education became my refuge.
To herself she is beautiful
One day, my Aunt Cecelia came into my room and asked me to come downstairs. She sat me in front of the television and introduced me to a woman I had never seen before: it was Oprah Winfrey.
My aunt said, “Natalie, look at Oprah. She is a powerful black woman. Some people say she isn’t beautiful, but look at what she has achieved. Don’t you think she is beautiful?”
I replied: “Yes, Aunty. She is more beautiful than me.”
My aunt smiled and said, “Oprah may not see herself through other people’s eyes. She carries herself with confidence. To herself, she is beautiful. You need to learn to see yourself the same way.”
At the time, I still didn’t feel beautiful – but I began to understand what my aunt was trying to teach me.
More interested in what I could contribute than how I looked
Growing up, I admired my mother and my aunts and thought they were some of the most beautiful women I had ever seen. I kept photographs of them in my school text books. Some days I would pretend I looked like my mother. Other days I imagined myself looking like my Aunt Emma Ashton or then I imagined myself looking like my Aunt Cecelia Rodrigues. I desperately wanted to see myself reflected in their beauty.
University gave me a temporary escape from those insecurities. For the first time, people valued my intelligence, my support and my willingness to help others. They were more interested in what I could contribute than how I looked.
Invisible, ashamed and alone
After graduating, I felt proud of myself. I had achieved something important. For a brief moment, I felt recognised. Around that time, I reconnected with my childhood sweetheart from Trinidad. He was handsome, charming and I had admired him for years. His handsome beauty was beyond every woman’s expectations. When he showed interest in me, I felt I had been accepted and convinced myself that marrying him would finally complete the picture.
Deep down, I believed that his good looks could somehow compensate for what I believed I lacked. Yet marriage didn’t heal my insecurities. In many ways, it made them worse.
During my pregnancy, I developed severe eczema. Large boils appeared on my face, neck, chest, back and legs. I felt as though I had become the ugliest woman on earth. I remember walking behind my husband while pregnant, struggling to keep up as he strode ahead of me. He didn’t want to be seen with me, with all my eczema boils. I felt invisible, ashamed and alone.
That hug saved my life
Eventually, my distress became so great that I contacted the secretary of my dermatologist, begging for help. I told her I feared for my life and that of my unborn baby.
The doctor immediately arranged an appointment at Hammersmith Hospital. As soon as I got there, I broke down in tears.
“Please save me and my baby,” I cried. “I’m afraid he will be ugly like me.”
The doctor embraced me with kindness and compassion.
That hug saved my life.
For the first time in a long time, I felt noticed.
She reassured me that my condition could be treated and carefully monitored me throughout my pregnancy. The diagnosis confirmed severe eczema, which had been aggravated by hormonal changes.
Her care reminded me that compassion can sometimes heal wounds that medicine alone cannot reach.
After my pregnancy, another unexpected chapter began.
(Part 2 follows later)
This message has been received from Pauline Hunte:
I truly enjoyed reading NATALIE ON LONELINESS – BEAUTY, COLOUR, INSECURITY, THE SEARCH FOR ACCEPTANCE AND BECOMING MYSELF.
It was beautifully written, and I could almost see Natalie’s journey unfolding as I read.
I’ve known Natalie for a good few years, and she truly is a Queen — beautiful inside and out.
The “invisible” person she once described is no longer invisible. She is seen, heard, and, most importantly, she now uses her own experiences to make others feel seen and valued.
Natalie has such a beautiful way of uplifting people through her words, kindness, and actions. She sees the good in others and never hesitates to remind them of their worth.
I applaud Natalie for her courage, resilience, and determination to discover and embrace her true self. She continues to give so much to others, even through her own challenges. Keep shining, beautiful Natalie, and keep inspiring others through all that you do